


This is a Princess

by megumijaya



Series: The Death of Myrcella's Love [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Soliloquy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 14:53:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1308901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megumijaya/pseuds/megumijaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Myrcella hears of the King in the North's death, her first love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is a Princess

**Author's Note:**

> This is the inter-turmoil of Myrcella Baratheon, the Kind Lioness and Doe Princess.

__

 

 _He's dead. He died for **her**. Robb Stark died for a Westerling_. Myrcella was beyond grieving for her first love. The young Lioness was becoming just that. The once doe like princess was angry and hurt. Robb was a king, King of the North, he was supposed to marry someone worthy of his title- a princess. _I should have forgotten him a long time ago._ Myrcella was betrothed, to Trystane Martell, a Prince of Dorne.

 _The youngest prince that will only keep me princess. I wanted to be a queen- like mother._ Myrcella didn’t want to be exactly like her mother, Cersei, her mother was a selfish queen. Myrcella knew every child was supposed to become better than their parents.

_Westerlings aren’t even part of the North, he married so low and to a Southron woman worth nothing.I wonder how his banner men felt about that._

Myrcella was sitting in the large Dornish Garden when Ser Arys Oakheart told her news of the war. The internal fury raging inside her was kept away, in place was her calm and lovely manner. To them Robb Stark was no one to Myrcella, in fact he was the enemy. A traitor to Joffrey, her brother, her **lovely** brother. Myrcella couldn't help but pity the poor Stark girls. She knew her brother and she knew her mother, "Everyone who isn't us is the enemy." Myrcella couldn't count how many times she has heard that horrid phrase from her mother, nor could she understand the truth in it.

“You know he sent me a letter once, Ser.” She turned to her Sworn Shield.

“Who? The Young Wolf. When he was married?” Ser Arys took a seat on the garden bench with her.

Myrcella scoffed, “I would barely call it that, they weren’t married for more than five moons. But no, he sent it to me back before I was betrothed, before our fathers were dead, before I came to the smothering ‘Seven Hells of Dorne’.” Myrcella’s tone was getting sarcastic and nasty, she didn’t need a mirror to know what she looked like then. She could remember watching her mother get upset like this; at her father, at her uncle Tyrion, sometimes- not very often- at her Uncle Jaime. Myrcella had all the beauty of her mother just a kinder heart.

“My Princess is growing her claws in this heat, eh?” Ser Arys smiled hoping the light jape might lighten her scowl. Ser Arys has watched over the young lioness ever since her birth and he was appointed her Sworn Shield. The closest she has ever came to being this angry was when Joffrey skinned Tommen’s doe. Ser Arys was slightly starting to believe that his Princess had romantic feelings for the Stark King.

“You should be glad they ever came at all, now you can go and frolic with Princess Arianne. Go away, I want to be alone.” Myrcella waved her hand dismissively not caring to look at him but stare at a large fuchsia cactus flower. She suddenly had an urge to pick it and wear it her hair.

_“I’ve been thinking of you my princess, hoping all is well. I long to see your beauty again, your radiance and grace. I will forever regret not telling my father that the Baratheon- Stark alliance should have been made between us, forgive me.”_

She didn’t though, she knew that like a rose it would prick her. That she would be left with blood on her hands, that paws and claws would be left red.

_“I still might have an opportunity to come to you, but for now I am to be Lord of Winterfell. But as you are not promised to anyone and nor am I, I ask you wait for me. As I will try for you.”_

Myrcella waited, she did, but her uncle Tyrion- as much as she loves him- forced her not to. When Robb learned of her betrothal he took as an unrequited love. Myrcella didn’t write him back, couldn’t write to Winterfell with Cersei as a mother.

_“I will not take it as a slight if you do not return my feelings. As you are the Princess of Westros and I am a cold Northern lord’s heir, I am not foolish enough to believe I am your only suitor.”_

When they met, he was a boy of five and ten and she was just touching nine, Myrcella considered him her only proper suitor. A suitor she returned her feelings to.

_“What I will be foolish to believe is the possibility of you caring for me. I vividly remember our meeting, your arrival to Winterfell. I thought I would be nervous to meet the King of Westros, but I was wrong- so very wrong. When you walked out behind your mother I couldn’t hear anything but my heart. That is when I became nervous. And I only have the confidence to say this to you now because I am writing it and you are leagues away. You are a goddess, the Maiden in flesh, a rose that will always bloom. And like a rose; you are beautiful but you also have thorns.”_

Myrcella stood up from the bench and began to-gracefully- walk along the Dornish pond. She let out a sob and lifted her hands to her face to wipe the falling tears caused from thinking too much. _Stop it, stop it you’ll make your eyes red and puffy._ But as she said this to herself the tears kept coming, making her hands muffle her loud sobs. _The gods hate me, they took my love to early._

_“My sweet Myrcella, though you have thorns, I am a wolf of the North. And in the North our roses are rare blue, inviting treasures. They're pleasant to be surrounded by and caring for them would not be a hard task but very fulfilling. My love, I wish to make you my Northern Blue Rose.”_

Myrcella felt her lungs begin to breathe in short intervals, her chest rapidly moving up and down. Her eyes were so very full of tears that she couldn’t see where she was going. This was so out of her usual behavior, something in Myrcella didn’t want to hold it in anymore. Didn’t want to be the perfect princess that always smiled with kind courtesies to everyone around. Didn’t want to always not say what she thought. So she didn’t, not then she didn’t.

Myrcella fell to her knees hitting the scratchy grass, her blush colored dress forgotten. She lifted her head up to the sky and wailed as if she reverted back to a two year old. Her hands now removed from her face sat in her lap clenching her dress. The tears were now free to fall, bathing her cheeks with it.

_I want to go home._


End file.
